


This was almost an average night out until you insisted on dragging that other guy onstage in chains

by VagabondDiesel



Category: Free!
Genre: Alternate Universe - BDSM, Alternate Universe - Stripper/Exotic Dancer, BDSM, Clubbing, Dance Off, Light BDSM, M/M, Stripper!AU, Stripper!Rin, Strippers & Strip Clubs, because why the fuck not
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-09-05
Updated: 2015-11-09
Packaged: 2018-04-19 03:18:32
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 18,330
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4730894
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/VagabondDiesel/pseuds/VagabondDiesel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><i>While he was no drag queen, it was obvious that his performance would hardly be a tame one. In one hand, held loosely by his side, he gripped the trailing edge of a linked chain, the rest of it stretching behind him to connect with immobilizing bindings around the other man’s arms and torso. As the beat accelerated, the brass undertones of trumpets blaring mixing with the heavy industrialism of the track, the officer jerked the chain forcibly, pulling his captor forward before whipping around to force him down on a chair. </i><br/> <br/><i>Haru’s heart pounded once, hard within his chest in conjunction with the dropping feeling in his gut. His grip tightened on his glass, slipping on the condensation when he clenched it too hard. It was too much to watch. It was not enough. He felt like fleeing the scene but at the same time, the thought of missing the rest of this performance was completely unacceptable.</i></p><p> </p><p> </p><p>The free! harurin stripper au that nobody asked for.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Go Hard

**Author's Note:**

> The free! Harurin stripper!au that nobody asked for. tried not to get too over the top with it all, I know these AU's can be a bit overbearing if done wrong. But hell with it, I had such a fun time writing this. Even formatting it, which I never, ever appreciate. So enjoy-

      “This one! Let’s try this place!”  
      Before the rest of them could react, Nagisa had already broken away from the group to approach one of the many venues lining the packed intercity streets.  
      “Nagisa!” Rei called, but the short head of blonde hair was already out of sight, lost behind pushing shoulders in the stream of foot traffic.  
      “We better go after him,” Makoto suggested, a touch of concern clouding his expression as he craned his neck in search of his teammate.  
      “He went in there, right?” Rei answered.  
      Haruka didn’t have anything to contribute and didn’t protest when they came within closer range of the mentioned establishment. He had been quiet for most of the night so far, processing the overload of sensory information Tokyo’s nightlife was emitting with customary stoicism.  


      It wasn’t hard to see why Nagisa had been drawn to this club. The music streaming from the open doors overwhelmed the commotion of the city, blasting manic, bass-heavy rhythms to its sidewalk audience. A wash of colors pulsed through LEDs hidden behind overhangs, illuminating mirror-finish black granite with a shifting glow.  
      As the rest of them ventured further in, a strobe light above the entrance flashed on, bathing them in scattered white light. The interior was aglow in shades of fluctuating blue, underlighting the glass surface of the long bar and illuminating the otherwise black interior in azures and teals.  
      The club was filling rapidly despite the relative earliness of the night but Nagisa had managed to find seating for all of them, waving enthusiastically from an elevated corner booth that overlooked some sort of stage. The rest of the Iwatobi swim team joined him, sliding into place behind the tabletop. A huge industrial fan spun idly from behind the confines of a wire mesh cage, moving far too slowly to be much more than decoration.  


      “Isn’t this place great?” Nagisa gushed as soon as they were settled, twisting in his seat to grab hold of the railing that was bolted to the back of their bench to get a better view. They muttered various affirmatives – it was, after all, his birthday and the reason why they had arrived for their training camp a day early to celebrate.  


      Rei ended up buying the first round of drinks, slamming his bills energetically on the bar as he narrated the making of “the perfect shot” to a harried bartender. He returned with four shot glasses filled to the brim with a cloudy blue drink that tasted vaguely like Fruit Loops to Nagisa’s delight. When it was time for the next round, they both ended up fisting iced glasses of the purely alcoholic concoction.  
      As the booze flowed the group loosened up, smiling easily and retelling the greatest moments of the Iwatobi swim club to slurred goading. The only exception was Haru, quiet as always, nursing a glass of ice water to ward off the effects of that initial shot.  


      At one point, the club reached capacity and the front doors swung shut, a growing line monitored by stern-faced bouncers.  
      “Holy shit,” Rei breathed, scanning the packed crowd milling a few feet below the low platform they were seated at. It was crowded up there as well, but they were among the privileged few with proper seating. Every other booth, table, and seat was occupied and jealously guarded by their inhabitants.  
      “Looks like you led us here at just the right time,” Makoto complimented, slapping Nagisa heartily on the shoulder in a gesture that he probably wouldn’t have repeated with such fervor if he were sober.  


      Before Nagisa could reply, the lights dimmed and the background music faded out, replaced by the dull roar of conversation.  
      “Something must be going on,” Rei muttered, then shouted as he repeated himself to be heard.  


      A spotlight cut on to illuminate an announcer stepped forward into its beam, microphone in hand. He ran his fingers through bubble-gum pink hair as he waited for the crowd to calm down, grinning sheepishly at interspersed cries of “Kisume-chan!” from his audience.  
      “Ladies and gentleman,” he began when it became obvious that the club wouldn’t quiet any more than it already was, his amplified voice cutting through the din like a knife.  
      “Good evening, and welcome to Soiree! How are we feeling tonight?”  
      He was answered by a chorus of noise, Nagisa leaning over the back of his seat to cup his hands around his mouth and scream. Rei had unwound enough to join him and Makoto added his voice after a brief moment of hesitation, raising his drink in the air and spilling it over his knuckles as he did so. Haru simply sipped at his water.  


      The announcer beamed at the enthusiastic response. “Now, we have a fantastic lineup for you tonight. We have some of Japan’s best under our roof tonight, and they’re going to give you the show of your life.”  
      This was met with assorted howls, wolf whistles, and clapping.  
      “In fact, we didn’t stop with just Japan. We went all out to go fucking international. That’s right,” he wound up as the crowd started to go wild, raising his voice to counter it. “We got Zamei, Mister Gay Australia, and if you don’t know that name yet, you’ll remember it well after tonight’s performance.”  


      “What?” Rei protested, only managing to catch Haru’s attention, the others too engrossed in the proceedings below to notice. He seemed to be completely unaffected, his scrutiny drawn by the artificial waterfall splitting the wall behind the bar.  


      “But until then, allow me to introduce to you our one and only, Miss Club Soiree for two years running, Sen Hotaru!”  
      Kisume bowed and rapidly abandoned the stage as the music kicked in at full blast, lights sweeping over the crowd and pulsing with the beat. The queen flounced out a moment later in a storm of heels and artificial hair. Despite the height of her towering footwear, she moved through her performance gracefully, mouthing the lines to the upbeat pop song without hesitation and advancing to the front of the stage to tease the ones who had pushed their way to the front to offer their bills.  
      Rei swallowed his comments when no negative reaction was elicited from the rest of the group, allowing himself to yield to curiosity. He couldn’t help but admit that she looked lovely as she moved in that clinging, shimmering dress, her long black hair framing a face that seemed to look all the more striking for the barely perceptible masculine undertones camouflaged beneath foundation and powder. Her aura radiated confidence and pride, evoking support and enthusiasm from her audience. At the end of her sequence, even Rei applauded and raised his drink, anticipating the next queen’s appearance.  


      And so the show went on, from formal ball gowns and classical music to leather and rock, all four of the swim club captivated by the unorthodoxy of the event. It felt as if an entirely new society had formed within the confines of the dark walls – one where the perimeters of gender and sexuality became abstract concepts, too blurred and out of focus to properly identify anymore. It was fluctuating, fluid, freeing. There was no disgust here, no muttered comments in disparaging tones, no judgmental glares.  
      Nagisa seemed to be unusually entranced by the proceedings while Makoto looked on with flushed cheeks and an embarrassed smile, more so the effects of the drinks he had been nursing all night than anything else.  
      After several more performances, the lights dimmed and remained dark. It was unexpectedly quiet without the usual transitions between songs although it was still difficult to speak over the clamor without shouting.  


      Nagisa repositioned himself to face the booth, his eyebrows raised in a question.  
      “Is it over?”  
      “What?” Rei replied.  
      “I said, is it-”  


      “Thanks again for making it out tonight,” Kisume’s voice echoed, appearing at the edge of the stage a moment later.  
      “Let’s hear it one more time for our beautiful queens!”  
      The club responded appropriately, their cheers almost deafening in the enclosed area.  
      “Well, I think that’s it,” he began coyly, tapping his chin with one finger in an overdramatized gesture. “But why is it that I feel like I’m forgetting something?”  
      Somebody screamed “Zamei!”, the raw shout dulled to something barely audible over the background noise. Somebody else repeated the name, and then another did the same until the air was thick with disjointed cries. Nagisa had somehow goaded Rei into chanting with him, despite the fact that neither of them had any idea as to who they were calling for.  


      “How could I forget?” Kisume facepalmed, lapping up the enthused responses.  
      “I should be flogged for that – so it’s a good thing that we have a whipping boy here tonight!”  


      The crowd exploded. Rei looked somewhat concerned at the level of Nagisa’s enthusiasm regarding this new information.  
      “Australia’s finest, presenting the first show of its kind here at Soiree, Zamei!”  


      The music resumed, lights above the stage flashing in a dizzying red and blue sequence as the [introductory stanza](https://m.youtube.com/watch?v=O3cuR7O_vC4) boomed from the subwoofers. A siren blared, making Makoto jump and glance around worriedly before realizing that it was a part of the show.  


      Two silhouettes emerged, indistinguishable for only a moment before the floodlights powered up, bathing them in blinding white rays. The first was a police officer, donning a uniform realistic down to the embroidered name above one chest pocket and the glinting badge on the other. As he approached, he lowered his mirrored aviators just enough to flash his audience with a carnivorous smirk, dislodging long strands of vermilion hair as he did so.  
      While he was no drag queen, it was obvious that his performance would hardly be a tame one. In one hand, held loosely by his side, he gripped the trailing edge of a linked chain, the rest of it stretching behind him to connect with immobilizing bindings around the other man’s arms and torso. This other one, moderately dressed in a close-fitting black tank and cargo pants, followed him languidly despite the fact that he easily held the advantage in height and sheer bulk. While he may not have been the headliner of the night, he wasn’t hard on the eyes either, between triceps that looked sculpted, dark, lightly gelled hair, and a calm teal gaze that could rival Haru’s for its coolness - despite the fact that he was currently trussed up and being walked down the stage like a dog on a leash.  


      Haru reacted for the first time that night, swallowing wrong and coughing on the unwelcome addition to his windpipe. Makoto sent him a concerned glance but he didn’t notice it, watching the stage with an expression that seemed to be trapped somewhere between panic and rhapsody.  


      Things were hardly about to remain as calm as they were. As the beat accelerated, the brass undertones of trumpets blaring mixing with the heavy industrialism of the track, the officer jerked the chain forcibly, pulling his captor forward before whipping around to force him down on a chair that must have been set out while the lights were dimmed.  
      He removed his shades completely, tucking them in one pocket before discarding his officer’s cap, carelessly tossing it to one side as the electronics in the track scrubbed out their beat while affording a full view of his face. He was undeniably handsome and the way he waltzed across the deck proved that he was well aware of the fact, radiating exuberance and something rather like arrogance.  
      The prisoner’s arms were crossed behind his back, tightly tied in with the rest of his bindings and Zamei took full advantage of his vulnerable position without a moment of hesitation.  
      Right there, at the very front of the stage, his movements perfectly visible to the entire club, the officer leaned dangerously close to his assistant, their chests only separated by inches. He seemed to completely forget his audience, his gaze roving over the bound man’s body in an accentuated manner as something like focused hunger took over his expression. He still held the other end of the chain to one side almost carelessly as he leaned even closer, tongue darting out to lightly touch his own lip, revealing the pointed tip of an incisor.  


      Haru’s heart pounded once, hard within his chest in conjunction with the dropping feeling in his gut. His grip tightened on his glass, slipping on the condensation when he clenched it too hard. It was too much to watch. It was not enough. He felt like fleeing the scene but at the same time, the thought of missing the rest of this performance was completely unacceptable. He glanced around him suspiciously, but it seemed that none of his teammates had noticed his reaction.  
      Rei’s mouth fell open as the officer edged forward, straddling his captive’s lap before his hips rolled forward fluidly, neck bent downwards as he gripped the other man’s jaw in his free hand, forcing him to look up at his face as he ground above him.  


      “Oh my _god_ ,” Makoto exclaimed, but his tone of voice was more reverent than condemning. Haru internally agreed a thousandfold with the sentiment.  
      The show went on, each movement loaded with barely-veiled sensuality. The officer pulled him back to his feet again, pushing him around to take a dominant position behind his prisoner, one hand running lightly along the other man’s ribcage as the other wielded a baton pressed against his throat, forcing him to bare his throat to the crowd. Even though he was slightly shorter, Zamei eased up into the crook of his assistant’s neck and was he _biting his earlobe_?  
      The baton was later stashed so that he could take firm hold of the other man’s hips, his own rolling against his body. How could he even move like that? It simply wasn’t decent, despite the fact that all clothes remained on - somehow it would have been less scandalous if they were to shed them all and streak across the stage.  
      The club roared its encouragement, pressing close to the stage as if the two were headliners at an international concert, bills fluttering demandingly.  
      Zamei finally eyed his audience lazily and grinned, his gaze sweeping over their booth. Haru flinched as if he had been caught watching his neighbors in the act despite the fact that it was highly unlikely that he had been noticed at all.  


      In the meantime, the captive remained stoically in character; ambiguous, yet not displeased even when his jaws were pried open to accommodate a gag and he was forced through various changes of position. After several more moments of being domineered, he was steered offstage with a parting slap to the ass as the crowd whooped and cheered.  
      But this show was hardly over. Alone and in full control of the stage, Zamei moved just as well without a partner, tearing apart the front of his uniformed shirt before stripping it off and discarding it, clad from only the waist down in low-slung utility pants held in place around his hips with a heavy work belt, complete with an empty holster and a dangling pair of handcuffs. He took the spotlight as if he were its sole owner, not needing a pole to demonstrate the full fitness of his body and the eroticism of his movements.  


      Too soon, the music reached its end and he was retreating backstage the way the rest of the performers before him had, short and cap throw over a bare shoulder, glancing back with a cocky smile as the club erupted.  
      Haru exhaled a breath he hadn’t realized he had been holding. The bindings, the possessiveness, the undiluted dominance was like a shock to his system. More than once he had wanted to look away, cover his eyes, do anything to suspend his vision, and yet he couldn’t bring himself to do so. Now that it was over, he couldn’t help but wish that it had gone a little longer despite the fact that it had easily been the longest show of the night.  


      “Holy shit,” Nagisa exclaimed, breaking his train of thought.  
      “Did you know about this?” Rei pressed, looking rather flustered.  
      “No, but that was _so awesome_. We have to go again.”  
      Rei stammered, unsure of whether to agree or protest. Makoto chuckled nervously. Haru put on his best indifferent act, storing away the thought and sight of the Australian for future review, following along with the rest of the group wordlessly when it was suggested that they return to their hotel for the night.  


      Crimson hair. Vermilion eyes. It was stupid, really, dedicating so much thought to a performer. Even though he knew better, Haru couldn’t quite get his image out of his head. There was just something terribly familiar about him…  



	2. Knights of Shame

      Drinking as much as they had the night before was a mistake. Haruka was the only clear-headed one that morning, administering bottled water and wake-up calls to his less coherent teammates.  
      If first impressions were as important as they were said to be, things would not bode well for the Iwatobi swim club. After all, they had not traveled all the way to Tokyo without reason - today was the first day of their official training camp, a groundbreaking trip with all expenses covered by their usually tight-fisted school. This week, they would be training under some of the best coaches in Japan, many of them reputable university coaches that were donating their time to the program and doing some scouting of their own from the high school teams that were attending.  
      So yes, first impressions were important, and the majority of their small group were suffering through various stages of hangover.  


      “We should have come a day in advance of the day in advance,” Rei mumbled incoherently, holding his head in his heads to soften the effects of the train’s jolting on their trip to the aquatics facility. Gou shot him a look devoid of sympathy, having already exhausted her share of reprimands earlier that morning.  
      “I don’t even know if I can swim,” Nagisa commented weakly from Rei’s side.  
      “You can, and you will,” Gou snapped back. “Do you know how much this training cost? They school isn’t paying to for you to sit on the side of the pool all day.”  
      Nagisa just sighed, repositioning himself so that he could sit with his forehead pressed against the cool glass.  


      In the end, he did swim, albeit with half his usual fervor. They all did, working through their warm-ups in lanes divided by teams.  
      Several hundred yards later they were interrupted by the blare of a whistle, swimmers around them stopping to bob in place before filtering back to the shallow end of the pool, bodies packed against the wall in a colorful cacophony of swim caps and bare shoulders.”  


      “Alright, listen up,” the person who had introduced themselves as the head coach began once the last few had straggled in.  
      “This year, we’re going to change things up a bit. Instead of dividing you off by teams, we’re going to run through some timed laps and pair everybody off in groups of corresponding ability. Each lane will have a designated coach for the day, and we’ll be rotating through to keep things rounded off.”  
      Haru exchanged a look with his teammates. While they had held joint practices with other teams in the past, they had never been separated like this before. It would be an interesting experience, to say the least.  


      “This is not a race,” the head coach reminded as the swimmers migrated to positions behind the blocks, suits wet and uncomfortably clinging once they were out of the water.  
      “Pace yourself so we can get an accurate idea of how you’ll be swimming all day.” And without any further ado, he brandished his clipboard, firing off names, lanes, and starting orders.  


      While it wasn’t supposed to be a race, it felt like one with the static charge of competitive energy radiating through the air, most of the swimmers there eager to impress and place in the faster lanes. Haruka leaned back into his start, feeling the familiar pull through his hamstrings and the tension coiling in his gut as he waited for the signal, forcing himself to breathe evenly.  
      The light flashed, the buzzer sounded, and he exploded off the block, penetrating the surface of the water like a lance. He accelerated with several rapid dolphin kicks before extending into the familiarity of his stroke, tearing through the two hundred yard trial in a matter of minutes.  
      His hand slammed into the pad first, easily ahead of the other seven lanes.  


      “Nanase Haruke,” the coach announced as he read through the names. “Lane one.”  
      “Aw, you won’t swim with us,” Nagisa complained, eying his lane – four – with distaste.  
      “Of course you’d rank in the fastest,” Rei groused without any actual ill-will behind the comment, rather off-put by the fact that he had wound up in seven, second to last.  
      “We’ll be in the same lane,” Makoto consoled, ruffling Nagisa’s still-damp hair playfully.  
      “Yeah, but I wish we could all stay together. Like usual.” Nagisa lamented.  
      Haru didn’t comment. He didn’t particularly care one way or the other. After all, they had all of their future season to swim together.  


      “Alright, you know your lanes. Get started and run through a 200 meter free to get your blood warmed up again.”  
      The swimmers on deck scattered without any real organization, bodies pressing and weaving to get behind their assigned lanes. Some jumped in immediately, pulling goggles over and pushing off the wall in tight streamlines before easing into unhurried strokes.  
      Haru was one of these first, dropping in behind another swimmer and adjusting to the unfamiliar presence of the bodies before and behind him in his new lane.  


 

      He couldn’t believe that it has taken him so long to notice it, finishing the re-warm-up and idling at the end of the pool with his group as they awaited further instruction. Their assigned coach for the day ran through some quick introductions, asking them to share their names and other relevant information.  
      Haru glanced over disinterestedly as each person in his lane spoke in turn – name, hometown, team, preferred stroke. But then-  


      “Matsouka Rin. Australia, but I’m native to Japan. I swim fly and free.”  


      Haruka suddenly felt as if he might choke on the air he was breathing.  
He ended up spending the entire practice avoiding any interaction with Zamei – no, Matsouka. This was about the third time he had to make such a mental correction. After all, it would be mortifying if he let his stage name slip instead of the one the Australian swimmer had introduced himself as. Fortunately, his avoidance wasn’t difficult or particularly obvious – their coach worked them hard between sets, barely giving them time to breathe let alone converse.  
      Matsouka seemed to take his performance in the water just as seriously as the work he did on stage, rocketing up to fight for the lead with a copper-haired swimmer with whom he exchanged familiar taunts. Haru held a comfortable middle position at fourth, unwilling to throw himself into the manic competition between the swimmers before him.  


      After several more sets, Haru concluded that there was no way Matsouka could have recognized him from the night before. It had been a large enough crowd at the club the other night and the spotlights would have been blinding from his position on the stage, reducing Haru’s presence to that of a faceless, formless audience member. That in itself was a blessing – Haru was hardly adept with uncomfortable social situations and he had no idea what he would do if the subject of the performance came up while he was face-to-face with its star.  
      In fact, right now, if he reached out, he could touch him, run his fingers over that same body that had been so shamelessly on display the night before. Haruka felt inexplicably uncomfortable at this fact and threw himself into the sets as retaliation, pushing his body farther as he tried not to think about his current lane leader.  


      “That was intense,” Makoto gusted as the four of them reunited on their way to the locker rooms. Haruka nodded in agreement. Even he wasn’t immune to the aching burn in his muscles after the grueling three-hour practice.  
      “So next is classroom training after an hour break,” Rei informed them, plotting out their course of action several steps in advance, as he always tended to do.  
      “That’s plenty of time,” Makoto responded, pushing the door open and holding it for the rest of them in a show of politeness.  
      They had lingered on the pool deck purposefully for a quarter of an hour after the last set had been completed, Haru drifting through an empty lane while the others met up with Gou by the bins of training equipment, chatting casually with their towels slung over their shoulders.  
      By the time they had entered the locker room, they had missed the worst of the rush for the showers. The voices that echoed over the tiled surfaces primarily originated from the locker area, the swimmers that projected them already drying off or in the process of dressing.  
      Haru stole a dollop of Makoto’s shampoo, having not brought his own to begin with. Nagisa energetically lathered the suit that he still wore along with his hair despite Rei’s reprimands about damaging the material.  


      As they rinsed off, the door to the sauna in the hallway between the showers and the locker rooms cracked open, fragments of some prior conversation filtering out. It swung open fully a moment later, held by a familiar mauve haired swimmer as several of his teammates emerged behind him.  
      “Is that-” Rei hissed, doing his best to remain inaudible under the streams from the showerheads. Nagisa emphatically shook his head ‘no’, more so in an attempt to quiet him than an actual answer. Rei, however, was clueless.  
      “It has to be,” he protested, picking up volume unintentionally.  
      “Rei,” Makoto warned, moving to shut off the water. But as he stepped forward, his heel slipped on a swim cap that had fallen on the slick floor and he lost his balance spectacularly, crashing on his back like a sack of bricks.  


      He blinked at the ceiling in a daze, Nagisa and Rei fretting over him as Haru leaned close, his normally stoic expression painted with concern.  
      “Are you alright?”  
      “Oh my god,” Nagisa erupted, wringing the offending piece of swimwear between his hands as if he were attempting to punish it. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I didn’t see it on the floor.”  


      The fall had managed to catch the attention of the other swimmers around them, and to Haruka’s dismay, the group from the sauna was approaching them with Matsouka at their lead.  
      “Is he going to be alright? Can you get up?”  
      Makoto’s neck was turning mottled shades of red, the blotchy flush spreading to his cheeks as he hastily propped himself up in a sitting position, shifting his weight between his palms as he subtly tried to get distance between himself and his interrogators.  
      “No! I mean, yes. Fine,” he replied disjointedly, accepting Rei’s extended hand to rise to his feet. “Just knocked the wind out of me.”  
      Matsouka didn’t seem to be buying it, leaning forward in an attempt to get a better look at his pupils as he continued to back away.  
      “You might have a concussion,” he began suspiciously.  
      “No, I’d notice,” Makoto replied rapidly. Matsouka raised an eyebrow.  
      Haru spoke up then, addressing the Australian swimmer. “We’ll keep an eye on him.”  
      He could almost read the thought processes behind those vermillion irises as he bore the full weight of the other swimmer’s gaze. Haru crossed his arms over his chest reflexively.  


      But that only lasted a moment – in the next, Matsouka sighed resignedly, turning to look Makoto over for a final time.  
      “Well, try not to push it. There’s a nurse on site if anything comes up, you know.”  
      As he turned to rejoin his own team, Nagisa spoke up, evidently unable to restrain himself.  
      “Hey, what’s your name again?”  


      “Eh?” Matsouka hesitated, obviously not having anticipated the question. His brows furrowed as he gave them all a second glance.  
      “Matsouka Rin. And you’re Nanase Haruka, right? You were in my lane.”  
      Haruka nodded, not bothering to verbalize a response.  
      “Cool.” Matsouka finished lamely when it became obvious that nobody else in the group was about to speak up. He took several steps away before turning back to address Haruka, conflict playing across his expression.  


      “Do I know you from somewhere? You seem familiar, somehow.”  
      “No, not at all,” Haruka denied swiftly.  
      “Oh. Sorry, I must have mistaken you for someone else,” Rin covered, reaching up to adjust the goggles hanging around his neck. “I’ll see you later, I guess.”  


      “That was rude,” Makoto hissed as soon as the Australian swimmer and the rest of his team were out of earshot.  
      “What was I supposed to say?” Haruka protested.  
      “Oh, something like, ‘Hello, I’m Nanase Haruka and we say you half naked at the gay club last night. I liked your handcuffs. Pleased to meet you.’” Nagisa quipped unhelpfully.  
      “Well, no,” Makoto countered. “But at least – I don’t know, _something_.”  


      Their conversation resumed when they migrated away from the locker room and the chances of them being overheard were low. They wandered aimlessly through the buildings many hallways and corridors, wasting away the time before their classroom started.  
      “Haru, you didn’t say anything about swimming in the same lane as Zamei,” Nagisa whined. “Didn’t you notice? You couldn’t have not.”  
      Rei winced at the double negative.  
      “It wasn’t important.” Haru replied simply.  
      “But it is! And he remembered your name,” Nagisa emphasized.  
      Haruka shrugged.  


      It wasn’t long before they were finding their seats in the conference center re-purposed as their classroom for the day. As the presentation began, detailing the finer points of starting techniques, Haru’s attention began to wander and he found himself scanning the room until he identified a familiar head of mauve hair seated towards the wall.  
      He didn’t end up paying much attention to the lecture at all, drawing in the margins of his handouts while his thoughts wandered elsewhere.  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> gods, this chapter was rough to write.   
> no worries, more squirmy rin haru interaction to come soon.


	3. My Head Is A Jungle

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alright, I couldn't leave it alone for the night. I should probably space things out more to get more views, but eh, fuck it.

      There were no performances scheduled for that night, only what could be considered the usual crowd of patrons at Soiree. As enjoyable as show nights were, they didn’t leave much time or opportunity to properly catch up with old acquaintances or touch base with friends.   
      That was the primary reason why Rin was finding a seat at the bar early on a weekday night – that, and the club felt like a secondhand home to him, a refuge in a city that had changed so much since he had moved away so many years ago.  
Sosuke accompanied him, naturally. While old injuries prevented him from participating in the water with the rest of them, he still took an active role within the team, managing, directing, and even offering one-on-one coaching to the swimmers who needed it. It may not have been the position he had envisioned, but it suited him well and even held promise as a future career if he chose to pursue it. He may not start as a full-fledged coach, but there had been talk of bringing him on with some reputable college teams as an assistant, or an intern of sorts.   
      The two of them had been inseparable since Matsouka’s return from Australia, and if things panned out well, they would remain that way for quite some time.   


      Not that they were an ‘item’ – although Zamei’s performances with him suggested all things to the contrary and the familiarity of their actions and conversation even had strangers making assumptions regarding the nature of their relationship.   
      These questions weren’t entirely unfounded, however. Rin had blundered through enough unsubtle passes in the years beforehand, each time being gently set straight like a chick that had wandered too far from the nest. As odd as their situation was, instead of ruining their friendship as Rin had feared, it had worked to strengthen it. Rin would never hold him in his arms at night, but he had outgrown that juvenile attraction and traded it in for a bond that ran deeper than any romantic fantasy.   


      So no, they weren’t gay for eachother, even if Rin made a habit of grinding inches away from Sosuke’s exposed body on stage or regularly draped himself across his shoulders, careful to avoid putting too much weight on the injured one.   
      They weren’t, they _really_ weren’t, despite the fact that this statement led to raised eyebrows and smirks more often than not.   


      But in the end, what other people thought didn’t matter much. After all, if it did, Rin would have never started going by Zamei and Sosuke would have never consented to assisting him in his endeavors from time to time, even if that was the cause of several concerned discussions between Sosuke and his long-distance girlfriend.   
      Rin was never much help in this regard. He wasn’t shy about flaunting his proximity with his childhood friend, daring others to challenge it. It was senseless and it was sabotaging, and the fact that Sosuke never bothered to interfere worked as some sort of misread encouragement.   
       _I was here first,_ Rin’s touch proclaimed. _I may never have him, and I might not even want him, but I’ll watch you come and I’ll watch you go, because at the end of it, I’ll be by his side and you will be gone._  


      Nobody said that theirs was an entirely healthy relationship, after all.   


 

      “Hey, did you recognize that one swimmer in my lane?” Rin began casually, nursing his one and sworn only beer for the night.   
      “Aside from Seijuro? Nobody that I would know.”  
      “You know, that one guy with the dark hair? Really serious?”  
      Sosuke shrugged.   
      “I swear, I know him from somewhere,” Rin mused.   
      “You could ask him.”  
      “I did,” Rin retorted.   
      “And?”  
      “He doesn’t remember me from anywhere.”  
      “Maybe he does,” Sosuke suggested. “Maybe he’s one of those manic followers you have online. Maybe he’s seen one of your shows.”  
      “Don’t even joke about that,” Rin groaned.  
      “It’s bound to happen sooner or later,” Sosuke replied knowingly, sipping at his own drink.   
      “No, but seriously. That wouldn’t explain how _I_ would recognize him.”  
      “This is really bothering you, isn’t it?”  
      “Not really,” Rin answered unconvincingly, watching the bubbles rise in his lager when no further response was elicited.  


      “Nanase Haruka?” he began hopefully a few moments later.  
      Sosuke made jokes at his expense almost the entire way back to the hotel.   


 

      The answer ended up coming to him quite randomly, as Sosuke was helping him oil up backstage before a performance the next night. Rin was sore as it was from another long day of training, but he could never decline an invitation to perform. Wednesdays were a free-for-all night, normally set aside to give beginners a chance to get their feet wet without the pressure of a large crowd. He wouldn’t have thought of going on stage at all, but Kisume had pushed him, claiming that his presence would be an encouragement of sorts.   
      “I swam a relay against him.”  
      “What?” Sosuke obviously didn’t see the correlation between this comment and the animated complaints Rin had been voicing moments before in regards to this particular type of oil. (it was too sticky, he wanted the old type even if he had to go online to order it)  
      “Nanase. The guy in my lane. I swam a relay against him in middle school.”  
      Sosuke briskly wiped his hands off on a paper towel. “Shouldn’t you be concentrating? You’re on in about, seven minutes.”  
      “I know,” Rin defended. Tonight, he wasn’t dressed up as anything or anybody in particular, going with a black and chrome-accented industrial look to compliment the theme of the club. If anything, he looked like a member of the western biker gangs in movies.   
      “How cool would it be if I rode a motorcycle onstage?” he asked as Sosuke laced and tied leather fingerless gloves over his wrists.   
      “Just focus, for like the next ten minutes, Rin. Can you manage that?”  


      Rin hummed noncommittally. Sosuke’s advice was rather misguided, after all. While some performers choreographed every move, planning each step and practicing countless times along with their music, Rin took a much more chaotic approach to his shows.   
      He’d listen to his tracks beforehand, perhaps moving around with them a bit to get a feel for the rhythm and synchronization, but that was the extent of his preparation. When he was onstage, he simply allowed himself to flow freely, yielding to impulse and whatever movements came naturally at the time. It had resulted in some embarrassing missteps earlier on, but at this point he had been dancing for several years and had learned to have absolute confidence in the spit-second decisions that he made beneath the glare of the spotlights.   


      So he didn’t concentrate, and he didn’t really think at all when he heard his stage name announced over the sound system. He didn’t consider the possibility that he might look ridiculous as he rolled his hips, trailed his fingertips from his thighs up to his navel, pulled the tie out of his hair and tossed it back as if he were rinsing it in the shower.   
      He _was_ the embodiment of sex and lust and confidence, and he made his audience believe that every gesture had a darker, sensual double meaning.   


      They were riveted as the remix pulsed through the air and Rin casually pulled the leather jacket off his shoulders. It didn’t take long for the slashed black undershirt to follow. This next part was trickier, and he had to time it with a lurch in the music so that he wouldn’t lose his flow when he proceeded clad only in combat boots laced mid-shin, tight fitting black boxer briefs, the gloves on his hands, and the various bracelets and ropes draped across his wrists and hanging from his neck.   


      They loved it. He could hear them over the bass, calling his stage name, whistling, cheering him on, and he could see the bodies pressed close to the edge, offered bills fluttering like lost butterflies. The feeling of the cool air on his exposed skin was an encouragement rather than a deterrent, the sheen clinging to his body reminiscent of the moment when he pulled himself from the lanes after a hard race.   
      He hadn’t planned go involve much of his usual edgy acts in the night’s performance, but he could feel his skin itching with the desire to push things harder, to go further, to act out the scandalous and bask in the reaction from his audience. But he was alone on stage that night and so he channeled the excess energy into his original performance instead, casually licking his fingers here, dipping low to the ground there, arching his back when he moved this way, tucking his thumbs into the elastic band around his hips as if he was considering discarding that particular item as well.   


      And then it was over and he was evaluating his audience with a trademark grin before he retreated backstage.   
      After mingling with the crowd for a bit after the performance, the duo headed back to the hotel. Rin had insisted on walking and Sosuke obliged, the former still dressed in his earlier stage getup. He had redressed before re-entering the club offstage and didn’t bother with changing again afterwards. When it was all in place, it wasn’t that unusual of an outfit.   
      They didn’t talk much on their way back. Rin pulled the occasional hit from a vaporizer, exhaling pluming clouds of nicotine to Sosuke’s reprimands. They parted ways once they reached their hotel – while Sosuke was ready for a good night’s sleep, Rin hadn’t settled down yet. He ended up lingering outside by the closed pool, suppressing a shiver as he watched the night sky above him.   
      It was anticlimactic and it was dull, but he couldn’t find any appeal in heading back inside, back to a dark room and a slumbering roommate. So he lingered, fiddling with his vaporizer and wishing that his phone wasn’t dead until soft footfalls announced the presence of another close by.   


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> trivia: the chapter titles are whatever song is playing when I write these things because I have no creativity in that regard
> 
> So I guess in this chapter I tried to make a bit more sense out of my setting and the relationship Rin has with Sosuke. If it's not already obvious, this takes place in the off-season during their senior year of high school. Rin is back in Japan, returning to his roots on the Tokyo team with Sosuke, but they're familiar with the Samezuka team and have run joint practices and training camps with them before. In this timeline, Rin never was a part of the Iwatobi swim club but raced against them in his middle school years before he went off to Australia. He started performing in Australia as well, but he was inspired by the shows he used to watch at Soiree.   
> So there.


	4. Sad Machine

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so I was reading the past two chapters and my own grammar made me want to gag. like seriously, some things I wrote were so convoluted that I have no idea how to even begin to rephrase them.   
> /usual excuse about drunken formatting
> 
> one of these days I will be sober and/or patient enough to revise everything and beat it into presentable form.   
> Until then, have another chapter.

      When Haruka followed the signs from his room, he had assumed that they would lead to an indoor pool and he had left his hotel room with his swimsuit close to his skin beneath his sweatpants. Unfortunately, he had been led outside to this courtyard, where the water was drained and the tiled basins were locked behind gated fences that proclaimed “Closed for the season.”  
      He had hoped for a hot tub, at the minimum, but that was equally out of commission. Irritatingly enough, it was too late to draw a bath as well. He could have gotten away with it if he was back at his own house, but Makoto was a light sleeper and the rush of the tap was sure to disturb him.   
      Chances were that Haruka wouldn’t be able to sleep well anyway, the night air was crisp, and the sky was entrancing, so he found himself wandering out anyway despite the shadowy silhouette of another lingering by the fences. It looked like they were just smoking, given the occasional plumes that rose from their head, too large to be attributed to water vapor alone. With any luck they’d be finished in a matter of minutes and he would have the area entirely to himself.   


      It was a calculated risk, but Haruka was particularly bad with math. Either that, or the odds were simply stacked too high against him because when the other person glanced back curiously at the approaching footfalls, it was obvious that the stranger was none other than Matsouka Rin.   
      Haru considered turning around and going back inside or feigning some excuse as to why he needed to walk across the courtyard at this time of night, but he wasn’t able to justify any such response, especially now that he had been recognized. Besides, it was hardly that big of a deal. He had a right to be here as well and there was no way Matsouka knew him as anybody more than a swimmer who shared his lane during the day.   
      Rin nodded in greeting, shifting subtly to face him more directly. It was obvious that he was on his way in from somewhere, his attire at odds with Haru’s mismatched lounge wear. Subtle shifts revealed flashes of bare skin through the slashes torn through a dark undershirt, and Haruka was suddenly reminded of where it was that Matsouka was likely returning from.   
      As if he had caught him looking, Rin deposited his vaporizer in an inside pocket of his jacket, zipping it up to his neck once it was secured.   


      “Looks like our teams share a hotel too,” he began by means of a greeting.  
      Haruka shrugged. “Looks like it.”  
      “Well, it’s not much of a surprise,” Matsouka continued. “Most of the teams have rooms here. I was expecting to see more people from the training around, but it seems like everybody’s too worn out to do much more than sleep when they get back.”  
      Haruka nodded. “The rest of my team is.”  
      “Yeah, mine too.”  


      It occurred to Haru that this was beginning to sound like a conversation. After all, it was the most that they had ever spoken – in fact, it was the most that he had spoken with anybody outside of his team in weeks. Suddenly, he wasn’t sure how to proceed.   


      “So what are you still doing up?” Matsouka pried, apparently oblivious to the shift in their relationship that now merited conversation.  
      Haruka glanced over at the dark, empty craters sunk into the concrete deck. “I was trying to find the pool.”  
      “Well, you found it. What, were you trying to catch some extra yards? Get ahead of the competition?”  
      “No,” Haruka replied honestly. And then, before he could really think about what he was asking, -   
      “Why are you here?”  
      Matsouka shrugged. “Not ready to go to sleep, I guess.”  
      Haruka understood the feeling. But he wasn’t particularly motivated to voice his sentiments and leaned against the railing instead. If the pool had at least been filled, he could have jumped the low fence and endured the chill to get his moments of communion.  


      “I found out where I know you from, by the way.”  
      Haruka froze. Thankfully, it shouldn’t have been noticeable given the fact that he hadn’t been moving in the first place, but he could feel his chest constrict and his muscles tense. He was absolutely not ready to explain why he had been at a gay club in the first place, let alone admit that he had watched the entire time as his lane leader bound and gagged another man on stage.   
      “Yeah, we swam in a relay against each other a long time ago,” Rin continued, trailing off when he noticed Haru’s reaction. He raised an eyebrow suspiciously. “Are you sure you don’t recognize me from somewhere?”  
      “I don’t know. No,” he tried to answer aloofly.   
      The thing about being stoic by default is that when situations that flustered him came up, he had absolutely no idea how to respond, especially when he needed to show no reaction at all.   
      He had obviously failed spectacularly.   


      “You’ve never,” Rin began cautiously. “You didn’t see a show or something, did you?”  
      “No,” Haruka denied swiftly, his decisiveness in responding without questioning what type of show Matsouka was referring to enough of an answer in itself.   
      At least he wasn’t the only one who was getting embarrassed at this point – even in this light, he could see the dark flush spreading up Rin’s neck.   
      “Just…yeah, nevermind. Don’t worry about it.” He ran his fingers through his hair, roughly separating tangled crimson strands as he combed through it in a single stroke. Bracelets fell as far as they could up his partially exposed forearm, their accents flashing dully in the low light.   
      “It’s, uh, getting late. I’m going to head up. Don’t want to fall too far behind, you know?”  
      “Right,” he agreed awkwardly.   


      Matsouka looked as if he were about to add something else but didn’t, retreating back to the hotel room in silence as a final cloud of vapor rolled from his lips.  
      Haruka watched him leave, suddenly unsure of himself. It all had been so brief – normally, this would have brought him some measure of consolation, but tonight he found himself wishing that the other person had stayed just a bit longer.   
      He would have assumed beforehand that revealing his observations would have been mortifying but in reality, it hardly seemed to matter. Even if that couldn’t technically be counted as an admission. If anything, it felt as if a fog had thinned out because as limited as their interactions were, he wouldn’t have to pretend that he had never seen the Australian swimmer outside of a pool-related function.   
      He wasn’t sure why that thought was appealing but he chose not to pick it apart as he waited for the elevator to bring him back up to his floor.   


\--------------------------------------------------------------

      Another morning came and passed. They pushed through their sets like they usually did, each swimmer working their body past the point of absolute fatigue. Today was particularly grueling – their assigned coach had dedicated the entire latter half of their practice to sets of sprints. They were short distances, but there was only a handful of seconds in between each set and it seemed that every time his hands hit, he only had enough time to take a few deep breaths and a swig of water before Matsouka was tensing and pulling into position at the wall, eyes fixed on the clock as he watched the seconds countdown to another start.   
      He could barely afford him a glance in the water, he missed him in the showers, and he couldn’t find a plausible way to break away from his own team when he saw him walking to the classroom without his usual herd.   
      In reality, it was no different than usual, but for some reason that was the most frustrating aspect. After last night, Haruka felt that he needed to explain himself somehow even though initiating contact was something that he normally cringed away from.   


      “Is something bothering you?” Makoto asked softly, leaning away from another bickering fit that had erupted between Rei and Nagisa.   
      Haru glared at the empty podium before the rows of tables as if in doing so he could will their break to be over. Not that he was particularly interested in the lecture – if anything, it felt like a waste of time and he was eager to just be done with it.   
      “No,” he lied, and he could tell that Makoto had accepted his answer without believing it because he was wearing that crooked, unsure smile of his again.  


      He had nearly come to peace with that fact that nothing would come of anything and he would just have to get over whatever it was that was unsettling him so badly when the opportunity he had been waiting for finally presented itself.   
      They were just about to leave the aquatics facility for the day, and the rest of the Iwatobi swim club was gathered by the front doors after Haru had excused himself to see the bathroom. Matsouka was idling in the hallway outside his destination with two duffel bags slung over one shoulder, evidently waiting on a teammate of his own.   
      But now that he had him alone and his time was running out, Haruka had no idea what he had intended to say or why it needed to be said to begin with. He stalled, suddenly acutely aware of his own presence.   
      Matsouka glanced up in another display of some sort of sixth sense, goading Haruka into action. He moved a bit closer, cleared his throat softly.   


      “It wasn’t bad.”  
      “What?” Rin responded obliviously.   
      “It wasn’t bad,” Haruka repeated. “The show.”  
      “Oh, that,” he exhaled, shifting the straps across his shoulder.   
      Haru didn’t know what to say to that and decided that it might be best to leave, feeling largely like an idiot for speaking up in the first place.   
      “Uh, if you’re interested,” Matsouka began, calling his attention back. “There’s another show tomorrow night. At Jonny G’s. I don’t normally go on stage so often, but it’ll probably be my last one for a while, so, yeah.”  
      He looked wonderfully conflicted, as if he knew that he should be more embarrassed but didn’t particularly care. There was hope buried there too, guarded behind the sharp glint in his eyes.   
      Could Haruka really be blamed for agreeing so readily?   


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I really have no idea what I'm doing with this fic, it just keeps vomiting out of my brain.  
> BUT I LIKE IT.


	5. Illusion of Choice

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I actually went out to a nightclub last night.  
> for research. -coughs-  
> I absolutely did not drink too much and I absolutely did not request this song before dancing to it alone on the floor like a nerd. ended up hanging with one of the bouncers and the bartenders at their place afterwards to watch sword art online until seven am.  
> Life is weird.
> 
>  
> 
> OH ALSO one thing I did want to say was that I've been getting a few comments on the fact that Rin hasn't dissolved into a pile of embarrassment over the dancing thing (which is a legit perspective, I respect it), so I figured I'd explain it a bit.   
> My reasoning is that from what I've seen between the show, ova's, drama CD's, etc, is Rin doesn't actually seem to react to embarrassment normally. Like during that one thing where all the voice actors were on stage voicing skits (shoot me, I don't know what exactly that's supposed to be called) Ai says something like "Rin-senpai looks good in anything! Like the maid dress-" and Rin just yells "AI. SHUT UP." as maliciously as he can possibly manage. Like, he repeatedly has this hair trigger response to either get 1) inordinately angry or 2) when anger isn't appropriate, attempt to brush over it as swiftly as he possibly can.   
> So there. Kindof follows with his general theme of brash on the outside, insecure goo on the inside.

      “You’re going out this late?”  
      Haruka hummed with a tone that sounded vaguely affirmative, running his comb through his hair a final time before deliberately setting it to the side of the sink. Makoto lingered in the door frame, already barefoot and in sweats for the night, fishing for an explanation that was never given. His curiosity was warranted. After all, it wasn’t usual for his friend to be dressing up in a button down shirt and his best pair of dark wash jeans - attire that was formal by his own standards.  
      Makoto was still watching. Haruka picked up his toothpaste and started on his teeth, signaling the end of any further attempts to elicit a response.  
      It wasn’t that he was trying to be rude or was ignoring Makoto out of spite. The fact of the matter was that he had no idea how to eloquently bring up the fact that he was slipping out to watch his lane leader perform in an overtly sexual show that would likely involve public removal of clothing.  
      His hand stilled, pausing the scrubbing motions of his brush.  
      What was he _doing_?  


      The day had been predictably normal so far. The training camp was approaching its conclusion. This late in the week, everybody had settled into a routine of swimming, class, dry land training, class, and then swimming again. Haruka could have almost forgotten about the invitation or remembered it only as one would remember a daydream if it weren’t for the fact that he knew their interaction the evening before had actually happened.  
      Matsuoka seemed reserved during the times that they swam together – but then again, his behavior wasn’t much different than usual. It wasn’t as if they were particularly close friends or anything beyond acquaintances, realistically. Yet Haruka found himself expecting some manner of difference, some change in behavior between last evening and today; perhaps a bit more embarrassment and awkward situations, or, on the opposite spectrum, for a simultaneous decrease in personal space and increase in familiarity.  
      But despite his predictions, Matsuoka had maintained his usual distance throughout the day. And now here Haruka was, getting dressed at nine in the evening to watch him perform in an entirely different way than he did in the water.  


      “Haru-chan?”  
      Haruka didn’t bother to correct Makoto’s use of the honorific, spitting minty foam into the basin before rinsing with water.  
      “Something between my teeth,” he replied, hoping that he wouldn’t be offered floss or some explanation on how to dislodge the imaginary blockage. He hated lying, especially to one of his closest friends, and the more these types of situations progressed the harder it was to maintain the willpower to support the deception.  
      Makoto could tell, just as he was able to read earlier that Haruka didn’t want to elaborate on his destination.  
      “Well, don’t forget your phone,” he began with his trademark half-smile and the tone one would use to slip a bridle on a fidgety horse. “And call if anything comes up, alright?”  
      Haruka nodded and broke eye contact.  
      “I’ll be up for a while yet, so it’s no bother,” Makoto added before letting him be. He was curious, of course, but he had known Haruka for long enough to know that whatever it was, he was likely to hear about it within a few days anyway.  


 

      Rin was beginning to have second thoughts about his offer. Realistically, the actual number would have been in the high teens at this point. Not that it mattered much at this point anyway – it was far too late for him to retract it or cobble together an excuse.  
      ‘ _The show must go on_ ’ ran through his mind, because apparently no day was complete without some sort of clichéd quote or trope crossing his mental processes.  
      So instead of obsessing over a potentially disastrous situation that would be impossible to reconcile, he funneled all of his energy into fussing over everything that he could – swapping out his accessories, tying and untying his hair so judge which style looked best, playing the track he would be performing to on repeat until Sosuke complained, anything to distract himself from that ill-founded idea that had prompted him to invite one of the best swimmers in his training camp out to a performance.  


      “What’s with you tonight?” Sosuke groused after Rin had snapped at him over a suggestion to modify their sequence.  
      “Nothing. It’s fine. I’m fine.” Rin forced himself to stop pacing, taking several long drafts of water from his bottle before pinching the bridge of his nose in an attempt to derail his mounting temper.  
      “We could probably drop the flogging and do gagging again,” he began again, addressing Sosuke’s idea. “But we _just did_ gagging last show.”  
      Sosuke nodded affirmatively, turning and holding his wrists behind his back. “People liked it.”  
      Rin sighed and began to rummage through his duffel bag, trying to sort props from swim gear. He finally found what he was looking for, but his expression was far from triumphant and his remarks were edged with profanities when he pulled what looked like a solid wad of chain from the recesses of the bag.  


 

 

 

      The club was crowded, yet Haruka felt isolated despite the multitude of bodies around him and the dull roar of conversation beneath the music. He had shown up early to avoid missing the night’s main event – too early, probably, because it would be at least another hour until it began from what he had overheard.  
      He found himself missing the presence of his teammates. Without the familiar distraction of their banter, the minutes seemed to drag by. Second to that, it wouldn’t have been that bad of an idea to invite Makoto. The show wouldn’t be anything they hadn’t seen before and it would have been a small comfort to have his old friend close by, a touchstone that he knew well amidst the unfamiliarity of the entire situation he had on his hands.  
      Haruka drummed his fingertips on the bar, searching the sea of people around him for scarlet hair for lack of any better task to occupy himself with.  


      He didn’t end up finding him, which was likely a blessing given the fact that he would have had no idea of what to say if he did run into the other swimmer before the show began. At one point he had considered leaving on an excursion to get some fresh air but ended up overturning the idea on the basis that he might get caught in a que like the one that had built up at Soiree the night they were there.  
      Haruka surprised himself by ordering a drink instead – perhaps the first he had consumed in an entirely consensual manner. It wasn’t that he particularly minded drinking, though strong, bitter-tasting stuff and beer weren’t to his tastes. Rather, more often than not, his drinking involved one of his friends buying for everybody and insisting that he sample whatever concoction they felt the whim for.  
      He didn’t know exactly what was in his glass, but he could discern pineapple, whatever flavor it was that stained the upper half of it red, and an aftertaste of coconut. He decided that he favored the bartender’s invention and ordered another when his first glass emptied to melting ice cubes.  


      After a wait that seemed to lapse into an eternity, the lights on the stage crashed on in a cacophony of sound and colors as the randomized playlist in the background lapsed and faded into earmarked tracks. The first performer stormed on stage without announcement, kicking off the night’s entertainment in a flurry of leather and heels.  


      As the night went on, it wasn’t hard to notice that this show had a different atmosphere, the venue had a different energy radiating through the air. It was raw and unregulated, primal with a dark side and with no effort made to balance out its carnality.  
      Men and woman took turns on the stage, some in groups, some solo. All reservations seemed to have taken a leave of absence – Matsuoka’s act wouldn’t be the first with BDSM elements or even the most revealing, as evidenced when the a performer stripped down to bare skin and nothing more.  
      Haruka ordered a third drink. 

  


      The lights dimmed and flared again. The speakers resonated, powerful bass lines vibrating through the atmosphere. Haru felt something in his gut lurch when the next two performers were ones that he recognized.  
      They both wore white, silver accents flashing as they approached the front of the stage. Matsuoka wore an outfit reminiscent of the dress uniform of a commander in years long past while Sosuke followed bare-chested. Most noticeably, he was bound in four paired sets of ornate silver cuffs around his arms, wrists, and ankles. Lengths of chain extended from each band, connecting with a central cable that lay parallel with his spine, trailing close to the ground to bind with the restraints around his ankles. This center chain was anchored to the back of a matching collar with a D-ring at the front for a lead.  
      The entire piece was a work of art, making the ropes and devices of earlier shows look like cheap props in comparison. The chromed surfaces of the individual links shifted and flashed with every movement in a dazzling display not unlike the effect of undiluted sunlight across the surface of clear water.  


      But they weren’t there to showcase their choice in apparel. It only took them moments to reach their intended starting point and without any further ado, Matsuoka reined in his assistant. He controlled the motion so that their shoulders were to their audience before shortening the distance between them to scant inches, seizing his captive’s jaw and forcing their gazes to connect. The rough grasp melted into a gentle embrace as if the forcefulness of his previous gestures had never been present, Matsuoka’s touch as gentle as if he were handling some delicate flower.  
      The other man drew back at the contact and just as swiftly as he reacted, he was being forced to his knees in conjunction with the clear command in the the sharp downward jerk on his collar. He bent his neck and was rewarded for his submission in the same manner that one would treat a particularly favored pet.  
      And so the show continued, implied pain alternating with pleasure in dizzying loops. It was like watching a courtship between wolves, every moment tense with the potential of bared fangs. It was not particularly suggestive at first, but the hunger and lust grew with each cycle as Rin drew even closer and their moments of their contact lengthened. Chaste touches took on lustful overtures, their subject resisting less and yielding more with each one.  
      The music began to draw towards its climax and the distance between the two dwindled to nothing as they stood before a captive audience. Matsuoka undulated with his chest pressed against his submissive’s back, fingertips drifting lazily over the other man’s ribcage. And then, the shift again, emphasized in the way his grip tightened around the other man’s collar before he forced them into a different position.  


      Zamei’s show was a breathing contradiction. It was carnal. It was graceful. It was overtly lascivious yet astoundingly elegant.  
      At one point, he had abandoned his jacket to continue topless, and while it was hardly anything that he hadn’t seen during their practices, Haruka developed an inexplicable appreciation for the toned curve of muscle beneath skin. He had heard it said that swimmers had the best bodies, but this was the first time that he agreed with the sentiment.  
      But all good things must come to an end. The music and lights faded out to the image of Matsuoka standing over his kneeling assistant, the other man still gagged from earlier in the show. Matsuoka extended his arm to showcase the end of the lead in his grasp, smiling languorously as if he were privy to some humorous secret.  
      The applause was overwhelming.  


      Haruka couldn’t pay much attention to the remaining performers. For the first time since junior high, he was fighting a starting tightness in his pants that had become a problem against his will. He forced himself to wait it out from his seat at the bar, taking frequent pulls from his drink in an attempt to cause a distraction.  
      That aside, he wasn’t entirely sure of what to do now that Zamei’s show was over. Should he leave? Or would it be better to wait until the end, given the chance that Matsuoka might make his way down to the crowd afterwards? And what if he did?  
      Haruka sighed and tapped at the side of his glass. He was fully aware of the fact that he was out of his depth. He had never properly asked himself why he had approached Matsuoka in the first place, much less ventured out this late at night on his suggestion when he would normally prefer the relative isolation of his hotel room. He wasn’t behaving like himself, yet something within compelled him to venture further down the uncertain new path.  
      And what if he didn’t? What if he refused? He could leave at this very moment and return to the comfort of his bed, the thin strips of light that crept through the blinds to stretch across the ceiling, the even breathing of his slumbering roommate. He could leave and never bring up the subject of his excursion tonight again – in two days the swimming camp would reach its conclusion, and the Australian swimmer that moonlighted as an R-rated performer would be nothing more than an odd memory. He would return to the familiar, predictable routine that he had worked for so long to establish. He had cultured an average existence for so long now – why, then, was he here, in the most extravagantly abnormal environment that could be imagined?  
      He wasn’t sure. He should be leaving - he should have left the moment the idea had crossed his mind, yet here he was. It was reminiscent of the times he would soak in his tub with his arm outstretched, trying to pinpoint the line between imagining his hand moving and actually moving it.  


      He didn’t know why something seemed to lurch internally during their few and brief interactions, or why his contemplations on them seemed as if they had been laced with a mild narcotic.  
       _Infatuation_ , his mind prompted, automatically searching out a fitting explanation. The identification took Haruka aback at first as he struggled to re-evaluate the situation through this new filter.  
      Infatuation. Perhaps that was an accurate enough term. However, infatuation was exactly that; no matter what degree of intensity it reached, it would fade fast when subjected to the harsh, revealing glare of reality.  
      Somehow this was consoling.  


      Haruka lost track of time, somehow failing to note the end point of the night’s performances until several minutes after the fact, long after the lights had dimmed and the last one left the stage.  
      He allowed another half an hour to slip by before he prepared to leave in earnest. After all, it wasn’t as if Matsuoka had made any mention of meeting afterwards. There was a fairly good chance he had left after his show – it was getting late enough as it was, and they all had another early morning to prepare for tomorrow.  
      He was sorting through a wad of bills for a tip to leave when something touched his shoulder – or rather somebody. Specifically, Matsuoka Rin. He seemed as if he were on his way out as well, having already changed into a more familiar outfit consisting of track pants, his team jacket and a baseball cap that was sitting just a bit crookedly to the left.  
      He didn’t make an overt show of being pleasant when Haruka glanced his way, but he wasn’t unfriendly either. Matsuoka gestured to the door as casually as if he had run into the other swimmer at the aquatics facility and not at all after an explicit show which he himself had participated in.  
      “Leaving so soon? I’ll walk back with you.”  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> it was such sacrilege to write that bit about the beer. now I'm having a crisis of faith.


	6. Flashing Lights

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> THIS IS LIKE MY FAVOriTE CHAPTEr SO FAR. oh, y'all are going to like this  
> /breathes
> 
> Today's episode was brought to you by Leinenkugel's Berry Weiss, because it's beer that actually fucking tastes like it has fruit in it and not some vague aftertaste. And [this song. the music video's kindof rad too.](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=jbsjY4vfbcg) I highly recommend that you listen to it - I know I normally correlate songs with chapters, but this is really, just...yeah.

      The sky above the city was washed in a perpetual shade of amber that persisted even throughout the darkest hours of the night. Traffic rushed by just beyond the edges of the curb in an unending stream of blinding headlights and softly glowing taillights, tires echoing across gaps in the pavement in a chorus of hollow impacts. The sidewalk along this particular main street was packed even at this late hour, a stark contrast to the abandoned midnight avenues of Iwatobi.  
      It pushed Haruka closer to Matsuoka’s side that he would have preferred. Every now and then an abrupt change of pace would cause their shoulders to bump, or a particularly aggressive passerby would drive them even closer. More than once, Haruka had noticed the drag of resistance when their arms brushed.  
      The fact that he was hardly sober was not helping matters at all. It was the second time in his life that he could consider himself drunk and he recognized the symptoms – the vague numbness spreading across his skin, the inhibitions challenging his balance, the way reality was becoming increasingly disconnected.  


      “-you were at that meet, I’m pretty sure,” Matsuoka was saying, and Haruka belatedly realized that he had no idea how this particular conversation had even begun.  
      “Or at least your team was - it’s hard to forget a group as small as yours.” He paused to look back, concern clouding his features. “Hey, are you alright? How much have you had to drink?”  


      Haruka frowned in response. Of course he was fine – he wasn’t some kid that couldn’t manage his alcohol. But then again, the two of them had managed to come to a standstill in the middle of the sidewalk, and he was pretty sure that he had been the one that had stopped walking in the first place.  
      He was about to voice a response, something generic and reassuring to tide Matsuoka over until they were back at the hotel, but just as soon as they formed, his words slipped away from him like minnows between his open fingers. They were standing at the entrance of another nightclub and as the doors swung open, a broken stanza leaked out and ensnared his attention.  
      It wasn’t a genre he would seek out normally – the beat was low, grinding and constant in contrast to the monotonous staccato he was accustomed to hearing at such establishments. The notes dragged out, scrubbing through various changes of pitch without ever truly ending. The melody and vocals of the song danced above the bass in perfect harmony, shimmering and pulsing like electronic stars suspended over an unsettled sea.  


      “Nanase. Nanase Haruka.”  
      The sound of his name broke him from his reverie. Matsuoka was still there, looking as if he were a moment away from snapping his fingers in his face to get his attention. The doors drifted shut, cutting off the music abruptly.  
      Haruka crossed his arms in an attempt to look every bit as annoyed as he felt.  
      “Should I get a cab? It’s a long way to the hotel yet.”  
      Haruka shook his head. He felt fine, despite the slight lag in his movements, and even that was hardly strong enough to keep him from surviving the walk back. Besides, he was sure that a taxi would be expensive, especially this late at night, and he wasn’t sure if he had brought enough cash with him to cover the fare.  
      The doors opened again and he forgot about the senseless trails his arguments were making through his mind.  
      “I want to go in there.”  


      Matsuoka’s brow furrowed. “This late? You know we have practice tomorrow morning, right?”  
      “Just for this song,”  
      Matsuoka sighed, but he obliged. It wasn’t as if he had been given much choice – Haruka was already headed towards the entrance without so much as a glance over his shoulder to see if he was being followed or not.  


      By the time they made it anywhere near the vicinity of the crowded dance floor, the song that had drawn them in had ended and a new one was spiraling up from the ending notes. Haruka paused, suddenly unsure of where to go from there.  
      “So now what?” Matsuoka practically shouted in his ear, echoing his thoughts. He was too close again, standing with his chest only inches from Haruka’s back. His breath was warm on the side of his neck when he spoke.  
      Haruka stepped forward, if only to get some distance between them.  
      “I’m going to get another drink,” he announced.  
      Matsuoka didn’t understand him, repeating back something unintelligible with a bemused expression. He would figure it out when they got to the bar.  


      It was a bit quieter away from the dance floor though he still had to repeat his order twice, the bartender leaning halfway across the counter top to listen before pulling glasses and bottles.  
      Matsuoka had followed him over and ordered something for himself as well – some mixture of brown liquor. Haruka sipped at his tall cocktail without comment. It wasn’t that he couldn’t tolerate stronger drinks. They just weren’t to his tastes.  
      “What did you get?”  
      Haruka pretended not to hear him, unwilling to repeat the name.  
      “Ever had a Long Island Iced Tea?” he pressed, offering his glass.  
      It looked unappetizing, but curiosity more than anything had Haruka extending his hand to take the glass. Tea was normally mild enough, if the name was anything to go by.  
      The condensation dampened his fingers. He gave it an experimental swirl, careful not to allow any to spill over the edges. The ice cubes sat low and heavy beneath the surface, as if they were trying to hide from the noise and flashing lights. Haruka avoided the straw that plunged deep between them, drinking from the edge of the glass instead. It was undeniably strong, yet not nearly as harsh as he expected it to be. It wasn’t quite like tea, yet the aftertaste was vaguely sweet.  
      Matsuoka was obviously waiting for a response. That, or he wanted his drink back. Haruka shrugged – it was tolerable, something he wouldn’t mind drinking every now and then, but not a go-to.  
      He took another pull from his own glass, reacquainting himself with the biting mixture of cranberry and orange juice.  


      It didn’t take long for a new song to filter through the sound system, and then another one after that.  
      Haruka was not normally one to be moved by music. The radio in his house spent far more time off than it did on, and while the majority of his friends possessed some sort of music player or streamed tracks from their phones, he didn’t even own a set of earbuds.  
      But there was something about the intrusive way the bass was resonating through the air within his lungs, something in the energy that vented off the crowd in waves, something in the way the melody spun and wound, something in the way the alcohol was failing to metabolize as rapidly as he consumed it.  
      He closed his eyes and exhaled heavily, not particularly concerned with how ridiculous he must look in doing so. The atmosphere spun softly in his mind, reminding him of the documentaries on galaxies that Nagisa would watch with unparalleled attention.  


      And suddenly, for no discernible reason, remaining still was something that was too much to ask of him. He was no dancer, but his feet had different ideas, leading him up the shallow ramp to the low platform where the music was the loudest and the lights were the brightest, where dozens more moved around him with utter abandon.  
      He didn’t stop to think, didn’t concern himself with how uncharacteristic this was of him. Anybody that knew him wouldn’t believe the story of Haruka dancing at a nightclub, not for an instant.  
      But that didn’t matter. Nothing seemed to matter much at all when the music was penetrating through to his very core the way it was. He translated its direction into motion without resistance, letting it roll through his body like the powerful backdraft of water that pushed against his calves when he swam.  
      He closed his eyes, flashes of light painting the insides of his lids in a symphony. He was beginning to feel the strain in his muscles and his breath growing more ragged with each exhalation, but these expenditures were more exhilarating then they were draining. Unidentified, otherwise anonymous in the mass of the crowd, Haruka _was_ , connecting on a primal level with the force that painted the furthest reaches of space with novas and colored the depths of the seas with flickering luminescence.  


      At one point, he made the mistake of checking around him after suddenly remembering that he had not come here alone. Because of course the person who had turned dancing into an entire side career was hardly going to sit by the bar and watch while he waited for Haruka to wear himself out.  
      He wasn’t close, but he wasn’t far either – near enough to be touched if he were to extend his arm. Matsuoka wasn’t watching, seeming just as lost as Haruka had been moments before. He danced with an entirely different style than he used on stage, moving in a manner that was less blatantly sexual and more abandoned. The way his hips would occasionally catch in a roll or his fingers would trail up his side could almost be called innocuous– they were not rehearsed, or purposefully suggestive, but simply flowed from him as freely and naturally as breathing.  
      He knew he was staring, but he didn’t want to look away. He caught himself thinking that this was the way Matsuoka should dance all the time, that this form made all others redundant.  
      His eyes opened just in time to catch Haruka’s. The color in his irises almost seemed to glow between the spots of colored light that drifted across his face, molten raspberry pools.  
      Haruka looked away, burying his consciousness beneath the buzz of the alcohol in his system and the pull of the music.  


      He lost track of time as the melodies changed, people shuffled on and off the platform. There was something that bound him there, the same force that encouraged him to swim an extra hundred yards, and another hundred after that, until he would break a thousand continuous yards without entirely realizing that he had done so.  
      Through it all, he couldn’t help but catch glances of the one who had accompanied him there. He didn’t condemn himself for it, even when his gaze met Matsuoka’s without warning time after time. It was a night of indulgences, after all – the drinks were sweet, their time was short, and in a matter of days he would be back in Iwatobi once again where there were no nightclubs, no shows, where there was no maroon-haired swimmer dancing beside him. The entirety of the situation felt as if it were a part of some strange, sensual dream – the type that made one try to fall back asleep to return to it if they were roused too early.  


      It was hardly surprising, then, when he felt the brush of fingertips down his ribcage.  
      Haruka didn’t open his eyes, reluctant to confirm his suspicions about the one behind him. While the contact was unexpected it was not unwelcome either, synchronizing with the swell rising in his chest. Some ridiculous part of his mind insisted that if it was Matsuoka, he would somehow be able to tell by the way that he moved - despite the fact that he had absolutely no basis with which to compare it to.  
      He pushed back experimentally and the touch was reciprocated, the curve of another body fitting close to him. Hips were rocking against his own as needy hands wound around his torso, pulling him even closer. Haruka allowed it, tilting his head to rest against the shoulder behind him, baring his throat to the world. They moved in tandem, separate halves of the same whole, and for a moment, it seemed as if the music were moving in response to them instead of the other way around. Mental processes came to a languid halt, fading away to radio silence and contact that felt like electricity between them. The warmth of an exhalation drifted over the side of his neck, a warning before lips were pressed against the same spot.  


      ....Somebody was pulling at his wrist. Hard. Haruka faltered, attempting to process the new information.  


      “We need to go,” Matsuoka was saying, irritation etched across his features. He wasn’t dancing anymore. He stood on the dance floor adamantly, a boulder that refused to be moved with the current around it. His fingers were still wrapped around his wrist, the gesture resolute.  
      “Who the fuck are you, his boyfriend?” The stranger behind him made no attempt to move away, possessively draping an arm across Haruka’s shoulders and pulling him closer.  


      And it was if a spell had been broken. The ethereal presence that had kept him company thus far had vanished, the music that was once captivating was now overly loud. Muscles that had once leaped to follow impulse now felt as leaden and spent as if he had just finished a race. He could taste the alcohol on his tongue, heavy and dehydrating.  
      “Well, no,” Matsuoka was responding indignantly, as if his pride had been offended. That tone was irritating for some reason.  
      “Look, he’s not sober. I’m bringing him back,” Matsuoka continued as if Haruka were not even present. (really, he wasn’t, but it was still annoying enough to hear when he was literally _right there_ )  
      “How about you fuck off and let him make his own decisions, ruby? He doesn’t want to go back with you.”  


      The situation would have been more amusing if he wasn’t currently living through it at the moment – two people who hardly knew him, one an acquaintance, the other a complete stranger, arguing over their own projections of Haruka’s intentions.  
      “He’s _not sober_ ,” Matsuoka hissed. “I brought him out tonight, and I’ll be damned if he wakes up in a random bed in some asscrack of Tokyo.”  
      “Yeah, whatever,” the stranger scoffed, still leaning on his shoulder.  


      Belatedly, Haruka awakened to the possibility that he might not fall asleep in the familiarity of his hotel room. The situation as a whole was sobering him rapidly, and even he wasn’t naïve enough to assume that abandoning himself to the mercy of an unidentified man that he had met, drunk, on a dance floor, was anything but a horrible idea.  
      Anxiety pricked at his senses, the arm around him suddenly feeling like a restraint. He was appreciative of Matsuoka’s intervention because far too often things led to other, bigger things, and he wasn’t entirely sure if he could have stopped the progression with his own volition.  
      Haruka shrugged himself free, grateful when the other man’s grip released instead of growing tighter. Only then did he allow himself to look back. The stranger was not by any stretch of the imagination anything but handsome – dark, unkempt hair, intricate lines of a tattoo detailing the skin over toned muscle, expensive-looking clothing. By any standards, he would be considered quite a catch.  
      However, the same could not be said of the expression he wore as Haruka broke free. The chill of unease returned, creeping up his spine.  


      “Let’s go,” he murmured and Matsuoka nodded, turning to lead the way back to the door. As if on second thought, he hesitated before taking Haruka’s wrist again, pushing through the crowd despite the exasperated “the _fuck_ ,” that followed their exit.  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was not sober when I wrote that bit about Rin trying to yank Haru away from the dude and no lie, I had to walk around my living room giggling "bitch, YOU THOUGHT" before I could get into any coherent writing state again. 
> 
> So who else likes space cadet Haru and guardian Rin? :3
> 
> also props to all you fellow alcoholics who know what cocktail Haru got, and why he didn't want to say what it was. :P (hint: vodka and peach schnapps)


	7. Fire In Your Eyes

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i've been writing for seven consecutive hours. help.   
> sorry for being so slow to update. life has been life. work has been work. you know how it goes.

      Haruka settled lower, sinking down until his knees were braced against the back of the seat in front of him. He watched the scenery outside the tinted windows in a fugue as something like radio static drowned out other mental processes. He felt himself sinking deeper into his own consciousness between the stops and the starts, the shifting streetlights, and the soft intermittent clicking of the turn signal as the blocks rolled past. It was a sensation that was not unlike being submerged in deep water, but here he did not need to struggle for breath and nobody dove in to interrupt when he remained motionless at the bottom for too long.   
      He exhaled, the air vacating his lungs in a prolonged hiss as he allowed his eyes to close – only for a moment.   


  


\- - - - - - - - - - - 

  


      The last time he had glanced over, Haruka had been sitting childishly low in the seat next to him, staring out the window with an expression that was more glazed than anything. So it was unexpected when hardly a minute later, a weight settled on his shoulder after their driver took a particularly aggressive right turn.   
      Matsuoka froze, fingertips suspended over the keyboard generated on the screen of his phone. Nanase’s head had slipped across the back of the bench seat, bringing the rest of his torso with it until the journey down was interrupted by Matsuoka’s shoulder. He expected the other passenger to correct himself right away, or perhaps offer a slurred apology, but nothing of the sort happened. In fact, any questions about Haruka’s consciousness were easily answered in the way his mouth had fallen open, lips just barely parted to allow exhalations to match time with the slow rise and fall of his chest.   
      Rin sighed, beginning the awkward shifting process that would dislodge his comatose companion. A signal above the intersection flashed to a solid red, and the sedan decelerated before coming to a halt. Inside the cab, the bustle of the city was absorbed by the vehicle’s insulation, replaced with the languid idling of the engine. Mechanical components whirred, changing pitch as the transmission worked its way up the gears as the car began to accelerate again.   
      And still Haruka leaned there, oblivious to his position and the world around him. Matsuoka wasn’t having too much luck with his attempt at subtle repositioning. Too gentle of a movement would have the dark-haired swimmer falling back into an almost identical position moments later, and too hard of a push would constitute a full-out shove.   
      The screen on Matsuoka’s phone dimmed before cutting out entirely, the lack of input sending it through its locking procedure. He let it fall in his lap, reaching around with his other arm to apply a bit more force.   
      Yet he found himself questioning his original intent when his palms made contact with Haruka’s shoulder. After all, he was hardly one to cringe away from contact that would normally be regarded as taboo, and if he was honest with himself, the gentle pressure of the body against his was a comfort he had gone a long time without.   
      It had the aroma of a guilty indulgence about it, but Rin didn’t rouse him until they rolled to a stop outside of their hotel.   


  


\---------------------------------------------------

  
  


      It was too bright. Haruka’s stomach roiled in his gut as he was shaken awake, the movement sending aftershocks of nausea through his system. He could practically feel the creases his frown was digging in his features, the expression partially hidden by the arm he had swung over his eyes to block out the worst of the light.   
      And still, he wasn’t left alone. Makoto’s voice filtered through the blankets that he had wrapped around his head.   
      “Haru? Haru-chan? It’s time to go, I let you sleep in as long as you could.”  
      “No.” Haruka muttered sullenly. He had never felt this ill in his entire life, and if he couldn’t tell the time of day from the sun pouring through the blinds, he could have sworn that he had only slept for a minute.   
      “We really have to go,” Makoto insisted. “Were you drinking last night?”  
      Haruka groaned in response.   
      “Well, you should drink some water, at least. Alcohol dehydrates, you know.”  
      That much made sense. Now that he thought about it, his throat felt as if it had cracked, it was so dry.   
      A loose floorboard creaked as Makoto left before returning with a cool bottle of water. Haruka sat up to accept it, gravely miscalculating his own condition. His gut lurched as bile worked the wrong way through his throat, and he was just able to make it to the bathroom with his hand clamped over his mouth to contain the worst of it. He was still coughing up the last of it as the main door to their room opened, followed by low undertones of conversation.   
      Haruka slumped against the side of the tub, unsure of whether or not there was more to follow and unwilling to move too far in case there was.   


      Makoto reappeared a few minutes later, concern etched in his features. “Are you going to be alright if we go to practice? Do you need anything?”  
      Haruka shrugged, tipping his head back to let it rest on the cool porcelain of the tub. “Go ahead, I’ll be fine.”   
      “Ok…well, call if you need anything, or if anything comes up, alright?”  
      Haruka nodded, feeling rather like he could fall back asleep again right then and there. He couldn’t imagine how Makoto could take a call when he was in the middle of swimming a set, but he chose not to comment on that particular technicality.   
      His roommate didn’t leave until he saw him back to bed with several well-intentioned tips that Haruka didn’t care enough about to focus on. Finally, the door shuddered shut and he drifted back into an uneasy slumber to the drone of the heater in the background.   


      He was coherent enough to catch the noon train to the aquatics facility. It felt abnormal, waiting at the familiar station so late in the day and without the company of his teammates. But then again, his definition of normalcy was growing more skewed with each passing day.   
      The tram glided to a stop with a hydraulic hiss, doors sliding open with a soft warning chime. He stepped on and took a seat close by the window, avoiding eye contact with the handful of people already on board.   
      The doors closed again. The tram accelerated with a gentle lurch and the muffled whine of electric motors as an automated voice announced the upcoming stop. Concrete rushed past outside the glass, the brick and mortar of the buildings splashed with bright advertisements printed on worn signage.   


      Haruka couldn’t help but feel off – as if some integral part of his being had shifted and was now sitting slightly out of alignment. It was the same feeling as that of wearing an ill-fitting shirt that wouldn’t sit properly no matter where it was pulled or adjusted.   
      He could have just attributed it to the hangover, yet somehow it seemed to extend deeper than that. It had to have something to do with the night before, but his memories of it were annoyingly indistinct and out of focus, washed out between the blur of lights and motion. He could remember Zamei’s show with a fair amount of accuracy, though the events that followed were a bit more difficult to recall. Matsuoka had offered to walk him back to the hotel. Or rather, they had been planning on walking before they wandered into that club, before all of the drinks and the shots and the reason why they had both found themselves on the dance floor.   
      There was some confrontation with a stranger – he remembered that much. Hands roving down his sides, an unfamiliar scent accented with mint and alcohol. Perhaps the thing that had been disturbing him all morning was the fact that he hadn’t minded the contact at the time, even going so far as to assume that it had been Matsuoka who had initiated it.   
      Embarrassingly enough, it was Matsuoka that had pulled him away and flagged down a cab to bring them back to their hotel. Or so he assumed – at that point, the most he could remember was the warm interior of a vehicle and a snapshot memory of Rin frowning at his phone as the city rolled past through the window.  


      He didn’t have time to follow this particular train of thought as the system called out his stop.   


  


\---------------------------------------------------

  
  


      It had seemed like an innocent enough suggestion at the time. Several days had elapsed since Haruka’s fateful night out, bringing them all to the final day of their winter training camp - so when it was suggested that they spend one more night in downtown Tokyo, Haruka didn’t protest. However, he didn’t anticipate his team being invited out with a group composed of swimmers from other teams, and nobody expected Matsuoka and his stoic counterpart to be a part of it.   
      As awkward as that could have been, it began as a fairly average night out. Makoto and Nagisa were caught up in a particularly involved conversation with somebody that had been assigned to their lane while Rei matched pace with Haruka, bringing up the back of the group. Matsuoka and a few others from the Tokyo team led, having been appointed as the authorities on the local nightlife. This latter group incorporated Zamei’s stoic stage partner, who was introduced as Yamazaki. Haruka couldn’t remember what lane he had been placed in during their practices, but he wore the Tokyo swim team’s colors and seemed to be close by whenever they had a class or a break in between.   
      It didn’t take long to find the first club of the night. The entrance was unconventional, crammed at the end of a narrow, potholed alley between buildings, but any doubts about its quality were answered as soon as they filed through the door.   
      The place was packed, both stories filled with bodies with no seating to be found. The bass throbbed from the speakers, strobe lights flashing over the rough-cut wood of the walls and rafters. It had the gritty, underground aura of a speakeasy, the ruggedness of the establishment offset by the glint of class.   


      The first round of drinks came and were gone in a matter of minutes. Haruka finished his with uncharacteristic voraciousness – while he didn’t make a habit out of drinking, there had been something about the escapade earlier that week that wore away at his usual reserve.   
      Several rounds later, he was beginning to regret his decisions. In truth, it was a night that he would have predicted if he had been asked about the subject at the beginning of the winter training, but he had come to expect a more memorable experience by now. At one point, Nagisa had persuaded Rei to join him out on the dance floor while Makota remained engaged in a conversation with his lane mates that grew increasingly animated by the minute. Disappointingly enough, Matsouka had slipped away along with Yamazaki some time ago, leaving a rather neglected Haruka at the bar. Makoto made the occasional attempt at involving him in their discussion, but the subjects at hand disinterested him. After all, he had never been particularly adept with social graces, especially when near-strangers were involved.   


      He hummed a low, flat note to himself, too soft to be heard by anyone else. The music videos playing in conjunction with the current track caught his attention, screens around the club broadcasting disjointed images of the artists in various stages of stardom, from dramatic slow motion stills of riotous parties to showers of alcohol and expensive luxuries.   
      Haruka’s focus drifted over to the dance floor, scanning the mass of bodies for any familiar faces. The pull that the music had held over him that one night was no more than a fading memory. The lure that had once stirred him to movement was now unfathomable, bound in an indiscernible reason that had nothing to do with the buzz of the alcohol through his bloodstream, the pounding of the speakers, or the gyration of the lights. Yes, he was approaching a state bordering on drunkenness, and the sights and the sounds were indistinguishable from the place where he had lost himself before, yet he felt nothing of the sense of utter abandonment that had drawn him out like a siren’s call.   
      It was difficult to discern anybody through the crowd, but he eventually did find Rei and Nagisa towards the far end of a raised platform. Nagisa was dancing in a very…accentuated manner, while Rei was moving closer to him with each new stanza, drawn in a manner reminiscent of a moth to a bare lightbulb.   
      He glanced away. It wasn’t that he didn’t condone their behavior – after all, he had voluntarily gone out to see a fetishized strip show starring one particular male. Rather, he had known Nagisa from before puberty and considered Rei to be a relatively close friend, so he wasn’t particularly eager to commit any overt scenes between the two of them to memory.   


      He was tapping at the side of his emptying glass and trying to envision a way to excuse himself without sending Makoto into a concerned fit when somebody slid onto the vacant barstool by his side.   
      Matsuoka didn’t acknowledge him at first, flagging down the bartender to place an order for a fresh drink before vermilion eyes met his own. Haruka glanced away, choosing to watch the bartender prepare the aforementioned drink. He had not meant to stare, but somehow he had managed and to make things worse, it was likely that Rin had noticed. At this rate, it would only amount to being a repeat of the last night Matsuoka had accompanied him. While his memories of that time were hazy, he remembered exactly who he had begun to dance for several tracks in, as well as the irregular tempo of matched gazes that accompanied their movements.   
      It was a remarkably ill-advised attraction. Not only was it unlikely that the Australian swimmer would return the sentiment, there was a three-hour commute between them and the threat of relocation pending their eminent graduations. And of course, one could hardly forget his teal-eyed shadow. With the way they performed, it could hardly be assumed that their relationship was entirely platonic.   


      But this particular train of thought was interrupted when the bartender set the freshly-made drink on the counter, exchanging the full glass for the offered bills. Matsuoka lingered, settling back into his seat without showing any sign of moving away.   
      “You always seem to end up on your own every time I come across you, you know that?” Matsuoka began.  
      Haruka glanced back at him, somewhat taken aback by the bluntness of the statement. Then again, the night was waning and the way Matsuoka’s words carried a slight slur indicated that the drink he held was not his first.   
      Haruka hummed noncommittally, sipping from his own glass before responding. The ice had melted rapidly since the process had begun, watering down the alcohol and dulling the flavor. Wafer-thin cubes danced enticingly, just below the surface. He tipped the glass back a bit farther, pulling one into his mouth and crushing it between his teeth.   
      “I don’t mind it.”  
      “Well, would you mind if I kept you company?”   


      Haruka turned to look at him – this time, truly allowing himself to see. The telltale smirk playing around the corners of Rin’s mouth gave the question an aura of a schoolyard dare. Tonight, he had his hair bound back with a loose tie, leaving his bangs free to frame his face. His eyes were bright, despite whatever level of intoxication he had reached. They reminded him of gemstones, exotic and shining.   
      It was then that he realized that his earlier evaluation of Rei had not entirely been an accurate one. If anybody present were to be compared to a moth, wouldn’t it be him? Drawn so inexplicably to a flame that he knew could only burn him in the long run? After all, there was a reason why he had wandered the solitary road for so long. If there was one constant in life that he could be sure of, it was that people changed with time. In the long run, they would move on, taking every kind word and every moment of intimacy with them, reducing it all to nothing more than a fading memory.   
      And yet, for some reason, Haruka couldn’t find it within him to deny himself this particular indulgence. He could see the end of it all in that moment, caught between the flashing of a strobe light in the background and irises the shade of merlot.   
      “I don’t mind.”  


      Haruka decided that there was something dangerous about Matsuoka in the way that all of his former reservations seemed to dwindle to nothing in his presence.  
      The rest of their group had moved on to a different club some time ago, but Haruka and Rin lingered at the bar. They talked as the drinks in their glasses and the crowd in the club receded to a more manageable level. There was a subtle shift in the atmosphere as the music changed to cater to an audience that was not as tame. Haruka found his attention straying back to the dance floor time after time, the industrialism of the rhythms and the melodic counter harmonies striking some forgotten chord deep within him. Rin – it was Rin, now, he had insisted – was saying something about his plans to go back to Australia after graduation, but Haruka was finding it increasingly hard to concentrate on what he was saying.   


      He couldn’t recall exactly how they had migrated to the dance floor. In the back of his mind he had the feeling that he was making a fool out of himself, but in that moment he couldn’t find it within himself to care. And as he danced, he fought, every movement performed in obedience to some greater cosmic command. He could hear the blood humming in his ears, throbbing in time to the bass that shuddered through his body like waves crashing against a storm-tossed schooner.   
      Though this time, he was not entirely alone. A swimmer with maroon hair matched him, daring to keep pace.   
      While Haruka did not make a regular habit out of dancing, the movements came as naturally to him as breathing - a logical cause and effect that synchronized with the call of the music. It wasn’t difficult to coordinate some more complex motions – an extra half-step here, and then a roll that started from his shoulders with the next drop in the melody.   
      Their gazes tangled long enough for Haruka to notice the predatory interest beneath the look. Starting a competition with somebody who had based an entire side career on dancing was nothing short of a ridiculous idea, though there was something to be said and some respect that was communicated in the way Matsuoka rose to meet this challenge.   
      Rin didn’t break eye contact as he drifted closer, narrowing the gap between them before snapping his shoulders back and dropping his hips in one, sinuous motion.   
      Not to be outdone, Haruka gripped the bottom hem of his shirt and pulled the offending piece of clothing within the span of a momentary lull in the beat. Rin followed suit in a heartbeat, tossing his jersey to one side without a second glance.   
      Haruka amplified his movements, bleeding off the energy that was building within his chest. He felt the brush of a body behind him but he nimbly sidestepped away from the intruder. He would not see a repeat of the time before - this night was his, and his alone.   
      The adjustment brought him closer yet to Rin, the press of bodies around them offering no alternative direction. The space between their bare chests could be measured in inches – from this distance, he could discern the individual strands of ruby hair that had fallen from their tie and the light sheen of sweat over his skin.  


      He noticed the feather-light touch of fingertips across his hipbone moments later, but he did not shy away. The frantic pace they had set before slowed to a disjointed rhythm, their bodies finding time with each other rather than the music. Haruka reached out cautiously, tracing the contours of Rin’s biceps before finding a resting place close to his shoulder.   
      The movement brought them closer yet as the track reached its crescendo and a kaleidoscope of colored lights flashed over their heads to the pounding of the bass. The air felt more like water as he drew a ragged breath, the blend seeming to be far richer and heavier than normal.   
      Their lips met and the raw, exhilarating shock of it overwhelmed all other sensations.   


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> fuck it. fuck proofreading, i hate proofreading. /screams  
> i'm going to kick myself in the head for this idea next morning. like a dance off? really? who thinks of that? there has to be a good reason why people don't write these that i'm not seeing at the moment.   
> but hey, haruka is a canonical recordbreaker at losing his clothing. so he would be legendary in a stripdanceoff.
> 
> forgive any shittiness in quality. i'll probably go back and revise the most glaring of errors in a few days or something.


	8. get wrekd

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> short-ish update but yeah. trying to get back into a once-a-week thing

      Haruka froze, mind and muscles locking tight. He could feel himself careening back to reality in a downwards spiral, assaulted by bass that thundered against his head like a wrecking ball and that questioning pressure against his lips.  
      And in the next moment, the sensation was gone and the trace of fingertips along his forearms was nothing more than a memory as intangible as a half-forgotten dream.  


      “Shit, sorry. I misread that,” Rin was explaining, the tone of his voice oddly flattened by the distorted harmony resonating through the air. He was leaning away and gaining distance by the instant, the back of one heel already poised to take a step back.  


      No. Fuck that.   
      The die had already been cast, the gamble had already been called, all bets building towards this pivotal moment. It was too late to back away from this, not when the train that would bring him home was already humming along the rails towards the city and the sun was slumbering just below the eastern horizon. Haruka could measure the time that they had left in hours – he couldn’t afford to let this go to waste.  
      Against all reservations he reached out, not entirely sure of what he planned to do with his fingers until they snared in the fabric of Matsuoka’s shirt. He pulled, savoring the startled look in those vermillion eyes when his other hand snaked so naturally around the back of his neck to catch in wine red strands.  


      In the span of a heartbeat, reality seemed to accelerate as if to compensate for lost time, driving them forward with dizzying velocity. The glide of tongue against lips formed a dance of their own making, punctuated by the way the rest of their bodies seemed to follow.  
      The lights were nothing short of blinding, exploding in his vision even after he closed his eyes against their intrusion. His heart pounded in his chest like the beating of a war drum demanding blood on the battlefield – calling for more.  
      More. He needed more.  


      “Holy shit,” Matsuoka breathed against his lips, something akin to awe coloring his tone. Haruka refused him the break, tyrannically reclaiming the marginal distance that had separated them. It was right for him to be revered in this way. Tonight, he was a god, his worship found in the dig of fingertips in his back and the frantic exhalations that dusted his skin. 

      Desire emboldened him, granting him the courage to venture beneath the fabric that separated his touch from the bare skin beneath. His fingers ghosted over taunt skin, tracing the contours of tense muscle and the gentle curve of his ribs before roaming further yet to map the location of a contracted nipple.  
      The movements synchronized beautifully with the press of their mouths, pieces of a forgotten puzzle falling together to form a divine rhapsody that harmonized with the scrubbing basslines throbbing through their bones.  


      “Nanase,” Rin gasped, barely audible over the din of the club around them.  
      “Haruka,” he corrected automatically, pulling at the back of Matsuoka’s neck to draw him closer.  
      “Haruka,” Rin amended, veering away from the contact. “You’re – this is - _oh gods_ ,” he exclaimed when Haruka latched onto his neck after being denied his mouth.  
      He rather enjoyed seeing the Australian like this, breathless and unraveling to his touch. It was a look that suited him. Matsuoka shuddered against him, exhaling hard in response to the intensified contact. He bent forward to tilt his head against Haruka’s, receiving what would likely emerge as a mark that would last long after the night had ended in the hollow between his neck and shoulder.  
      Rin rocked against him with needy desire, shamelessly showcasing the effect that Haruka’s ministrations had induced in his body.  


      This was different from the stranger from the night before. Matsuoka was subservient to his affections and compliant to his demands, receiving each one of Haru’s attentions as if they were a gift beyond measure.  
      Haruka suddenly became aware of the fact that it wasn’t likely that they could spend the entire night on the dance floor in this state, yet the only problem he could envision was how far away their hotel was from here.  
            Were they really doing this? Was that really a possibility? These questions send a thrill arching down his spine.  


      “I can’t – we need-” Matsuoka murmured, and Haruka couldn’t have agreed with him more.  
      “Where?”  


      They broke apart then, the weight of judgement showing plainly in Rin’s gaze, bringing the confidence that Haruka had built up to that point to an imbalanced halt. Perhaps he had been too demanding, perhaps he had moved far too fast far too soon.  
      But then Matsuoka’s fingers were tangling with his, the gentle pull of his grip phrased as a question. Haruka answered, trailing behind as Rin brought them away from the dance floor.  
      An unmarked door painted the same shade as the walls around it opened into a short and narrow hallway that bent into a steep stairwell several yards in. They ascended, following the angled corridor to yet another door that opened back into the main room of the club.  
      Matsuoka shot him a feral grin, leading his partner to the edge of the small platform. Lights and electronics gyrated at eye level, the whirl of their motors barely audible between the lulls in the tracks.  


      “We’re technically not allowed to be up here,” he began, “but-”  
      The remainder of his sentence went unsaid, reeling into the realm of half-finished thoughts.  
      Haruka could feel Rin’s moan reverberate through his skin when they met again, tone weighted with need and desire. Their grappling grew rougher as tongue slid between lips, nails digging into bare skin, fingers tangling in strands of hair to pull it back at the roots. Needy hands pawed at Haruka’s waist, jerkily unfastening his belt between ragged exhalations and swallowed gasps. Arousal thundered through their veins like ecstasy, electrifying every touch and heightening each new sensation, driving them deeper into a lustful spiral.  
      Nobody heard them over the beat of the music.  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "BUT FIG" you might be screaming (because you should know better than to shorten my username to 'vag')  
> "WHERE DID YOU PUT THE SEXYTIMES."
> 
> Well.  
> I have to be in a very specific mindset to write smut. I'm about a cat's hair away from identifying as full asexual - so it's not an element that has much relevance for me.  
> I could write something in, some generic, obligatory form-letter style sex scene to fill the gap. But I'd rather not. I have too much respect for myself as a writer to subject one of my works to that. Not to say that it's not going to be written. It does happen. Sometimes the fancy strikes me, and I'll be itching to narrate some of the most fantastically descriptive unique scenes my mind can commit to words. Those I publish as stand-alone one shots, so if it's really something you want to read, subscribe to my profile. I can guarantee that the sin will emerge one of these days. 
> 
> That might be a bit of an unpopular decision to make, but I really can't envision myself doing it any other way. I understand that this particular story is set in a rather risque AU and I might have subscribers that expected the smut to go hand in hand with all the stripping and the dirty dancing and the bondage. (and yes, there will for sure be a RH bondage scene to come, by the way. it's already in the works)  
> but yeah. I have better things to do in life at the moment than describe penises for several paragraphs. sorry if I disappointed.

**Author's Note:**

> IF YOU LIKED THIS SHIT, LEAVE A FUCKING KUDOS OR A COMMENT OR SOMETHING. Because those make me feel happy inside.  
> I'm legit trying to become the best author on Ao3 (yeah, stop laughing), so reblogs and shares help me immensely. ^^
> 
> I'mma dump [the link to my tumblr](http://vagabonddiesel.tumblr.com/) here, because I'm sick of writing it at the beginning of each chapter. You should check it out, I embarrass myself and you can watch me shitpost about gay anime boys and whatever other stupid things I find entertaining. It's a good time.  
> 


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